The Price
by Meng Xiaojie
Summary: One-shot. Manga-based AU. Deathfic. Kenshin has chosen to rescue Megumi from Kanryuu, but that choice exacts a terrible price...


**The Price**

_Written by Meng Xiaojie_

_Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin and all related properties are copyrights of Nobuhiro Watsuki, et al. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No infringement is intended._

**Warnings: Rated PG-13 for language, violence, and massive angst. Beware of CHARACTER DEATH!**

-------------------------------------------------------------

Kanryuu Takeda's mocking laughter was a shrill, horrid thing. His Gatling gun spat grief and horror and death, spilling honorable blood with callous ease. One by one the Oniwabanshuu fell, their lives snuffed out as coldly as one might swat a bothersome fly.

In the end, only one survived the massacre—the Okashira himself, one Shinomori Aoshi, who remained slumped on his knees, his legs rent and bleeding, his face a frozen mask of dismay. His faithful comrades lay in twisted, broken heaps around him, their flesh torn to shreds, blood still seeping from countless jagged wounds.

For one brief, despairing heartbeat, Himura Kenshin wondered if he'd made the wrong choice in storming Kanryuu's mansion. He had realized the industrialist wouldn't give up Takani Megumi without a fight, but he'd never imagined the man would go to such gruesome, dishonorable lengths to keep his prize.

_You've gone soft, rurouni,_ a bitter voice chided him as he snatched his sakabatou from the floor. _Of all people, you should know the depths to which a greedy man will sink…_

Kanryuu trained his weapon on the swordsman, his lean face twisted in an exultant sneer. "Just like a cold-blooded hitokiri to use that monster as bait," he chortled, wiping sweat from his brow and tossing a disdainful glance at Han'nya's still body. "Your turn, Battousai!"

Kenshin ignored the cruel words, choosing instead to drop into a loose, primed battle stance. He narrowed his eyes and leveled a cold glare on the Gatling gun. His mind sifted through options for a split second, singling out the best strategy with the practiced certainty of a seasoned warrior. Hiten Mitsurugi's speed would outfly the bullets, to be sure. After that—

"_Kenshin, Yahiko's been shot!"_

Sanosuke's alarmed cry froze Kenshin's blood, and his breath seized in his throat. His gaze jerked of its own accord to the doorway where he'd left his friends, hale and whole, not two seconds before. Sano was crouched low, one arm cradled round a small, limp figure. The street fighter's white sleeves were stained red. Kenshin could see his lips moving frantically, his free hand pressed against the boy's chest.

_Yahiko's been shot…_

**_Yahiko!_**

"You…you can't blame me for this, Battousai," Kanryuu sputtered. "It's your fault! You shouldn't have brought the brat here in the first place!" A nervous laugh dribbled from his lips. "N-now…I'll get rid of you and the punk, and no one will know the difference—!"

"Yahiko," Kenshin murmured hoarsely, cutting off the industrialist's rambling. The swordsman's eyes had vanished into the shadows behind his bangs, and his entire frame practically vibrated with tension. His fingers clenched tightly round his sakabatou, the knuckles bloodlessly white. "Han'nya…Hyottoko…Beshimi…Shikijou…Megumi-dono…Sanosuke's friend… Countless lives destroyed, countless souls suffering, all for the sake of your **_greed._**" The last word was ground out with great effort, spoken like the foulest curse imaginable. One breathless moment flew past, and then a desolate glare lashed out from behind the crimson curtain and pinned Kanryuu in place. A low, utterly foreign voice rasped, "You do not deserve to live."

The young capitalist let out a ragged gasp, and he fumbled for the lever, visibly shaking. "Even you can't outrun two hundred bullets a minute!" he shrilled.

Kenshin ignored the desperate assertion. He took one deliberate step forward, then another, and another. The soft padding of his worn sandals against the floor sounded like a death knell in the silence. His blade gleamed dully at his side.

"_Die,_ Battousai!" Kanryuu shrieked. His hand closed round the lever, and he shoved it forward with all his might.

Kenshin did not even flinch.

The gun let out a cough, then fell silent. "Wha—?" Kanryuu stared down at his precious weapon in rising panic, turning the handle with more force. "Fire, damn you! _Fire!"_

"Idiot," Kenshin spat. "Two hundred shots a minute. You were reckless, using all of your ammunition against the Oniwabanshuu."

Kanryuu paled noticeably. "N…no…_no_…"

"The lives of the Oniwabanshuu have beaten your Gatling gun," the rurouni continued. The deadly calm in his voice was a terrifying thing. "And now, Kanryuu Takeda, it is _your_ turn."

"Spare me!" the industrialist begged. He backed up until he struck the door frame, his skinny legs wobbling beneath him. "Please…spare me!"

Kenshin's pace quickened, the sakabatou drawing back in readiness for a deadly strike. The air suddenly smelled of lightning. "You _dare_ to beg for mercy?" he snarled. "Beg _me?"_

Kanryuu's lips moved, but no sound emerged. He stared up at the approaching swordsman, at the blade clutched securely in his all-too-skilled hand. The distinct tang of fear wafted through the air, mingling with the charged scent of enraged ken-ki. "Spare me!" the man screamed. "Mercy, I beg you! Mercy!"

"Perhaps," Kenshin hissed lowly, "you should beg your _money!"_

His blade shot forward, a blinding arc of metal and fury, and Kanryuu's terrified face shattered beneath the dull edge. The shock reverberated up the sword and through Kenshin's arm, a familiar violent tremor that, for the first time in his life, he welcomed. Every nerve screamed for the slight nudge of pressure, that tiny bit of force that would drive bones into the man's brain and end his grasping, murdering existence—

—and Kenshin suddenly yanked his blade back and sheathed it in one fluid motion, his frame trembling with the strain as he watched Kanryuu crumple to the floor. "You will keep your worthless life," the swordsman rasped harshly, "only for Yahiko's sake. I will not dishonor him by committing murder on his behalf."

If the young industrialist heard, he didn't respond. He burbled incoherently, fingers twitching helplessly at his sides. The sakabatou had crushed his delicate facial bones, reached beneath the skin to burst tiny veins and mash the flesh into useless pulp. The man's nerves had to be jangling in agony, judging by the whimpers stuttering between his broken teeth.

Kenshin didn't give a damn.

Sanosuke's panicked shout reached his ears, and he turned and sprinted across the floor, past Aoshi's huddled form, all thoughts of Kanryuu and his misery evaporating in an instant. Kenshin found himself breathing a prayer to gods that he didn't really believe in, as he skidded to a stop just short of the doorway where Sano sat hunched over Yahiko's prone body. "Sano, is he—!"

The street fighter shook his head spastically, not taking his eyes from the slight form lying cradled in the crook of his arm. "One…one of the b-bullets flew wild," he stammered out, his voice shaking and warped with hysteria. "But it shouldn't have hit him… damn it, Kenshin, he was further back! He _shouldn't_ have taken that hit!"

Kenshin stifled a bitter curse and dropped to his knees across from Sanosuke, his experienced eyes swiftly raking over the trembling form cradled against the young man's chest. The bullet had struck Yahiko squarely in the chest, slightly to the right of his heart. His careworn yellow gi was soaked through with red, despite Sano's efforts to staunch the flow by clamping a large hand over the wound. Kenshin's jaw tightened at the strangled rasps bubbling past the child's lips. _Blood in his lungs,_ the swordsman recognized immediately, his innards knotted with dread. _The wound is too close to his heart._

Sanosuke stared at Kenshin, his dark eyes wild and pleading. "What do I do?" he asked hoarsely. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

Kenshin did not answer immediately. He reached out and smoothed a sweat-dampened clump of bangs away from Yahiko's brow. "Stay very still, Yahiko," he said gently. "Sanosuke and I are here."

The boy's eyes stared up into nothing, wide and clouded with shock. A droplet of dark red appeared at the corner of his mouth. "Ken…shin…" he mouthed breathlessly. "S…sorry…"

"Shh, you did fine," the rurouni told him. He managed a tiny smile for Yahiko's benefit. "Rest now. I'm very proud of you."

Sano's face contorted as Yahiko's chest convulsed painfully beneath his hand. He flicked an alarmed glance up at the swordsman crouched across from him. "Kenshin, he's not—!"

Kenshin met his friend's gaze squarely, allowing the younger man to see the truth written in his face. He could not lie to Sanosuke. The bullet would take Yahiko's life, probably within a few short minutes. No amount of determination or fighting skill could save him.

Their bright, brave, talented Yahiko was dying.

The hope fled Sano's eyes, and was replaced by a sheen of angry, disbelieving tears. "Yahiko," he murmured tightly, curling his arm more securely around the child's shoulders. "Oh, damn it, kid…"

Yahiko suddenly coughed, spattering Sanosuke's sleeve with more red. His mouth gaped open in a tattered gasp, and his hands flailed weakly, as though searching for something to hold onto. Wide, frightened eyes rolled about aimlessly.

Kenshin caught the boy's hands and held them firmly, wrapping the slender fingers in a warm, reassuring grip. "Don't be afraid, Yahiko," he murmured soothingly. "We'll stay with you. You aren't alone."

Yahiko blinked dazedly, his brows knitting in confusion. "K…Kao…ru…?" came the halting whisper. And then, without warning, the small body stilled its frenetic heaving. The tense limbs loosened and relaxed, and a wheezing sigh fled the bloodied lips. The boy's head lolled uselessly against Sanosuke's arm. The panic and pain left his eyes, leaving only a blank, frozen stare.

He was gone.

A guttural, strangled sound tore itself from Sano's throat, something between a cry and a sob. He crushed the boy against his chest, rocking back and forth as though trying to will the life back into the limp body. "Damn it all," he groaned, the words muffled by Yahiko's red-soaked gi. "If we hadn't come…oh gods, kid, I'm so sorry... _**damn **it**!"**_

Kenshin stared numbly at the blood pooling on the floor, listening faintly to Sano's dry, hitched sobs. His chest tightened viciously in the familiar grip of remorse and loss.

_Your fault, Battousai,_ Kanryuu's voice sneered. _Your choice._

The rurouni glanced down at the rusty stain of blood streaked across his hands. It was his own, still oozing from the cuts inflicted during his fight with Aoshi. It glared as damningly red as the crimson yet spilling from Yahiko's ruined body.

Kenshin had glimpsed the suffering in Megumi's soul. His only wish had been to extend what little grace he had left to her, to help her find the forgiveness that he himself would never receive.

His choice had cost the life of a courageous, gifted child.

Such was the grace of the hitokiri Battousai.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"_She saved my life! I'm gonna save her if it kills me!" --Myoujin Yahiko (died age 10)_

-------------------------------------------------------------

**Thank you for reading. I apologize for the rather substandard quality; I wrote this in a fit of late-night angst-monkeying. It was basically just an excuse to write a short, sad death scene. Review if you are so inclined!**


End file.
